


About-Face

by Violet_Jones



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Jones/pseuds/Violet_Jones
Summary: Ian runs into someone he hasn't seen in years, kicking off an unexpected and slightly inappropriate chain of events.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 52
Kudos: 344





	About-Face

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of those randomly inspired one shots I had to write as soon as I saw this absurd tweet posted on tumblr.com:
> 
> [Basis of this humorous tale](https://twitter.com/crabsgonewild/status/1209900053277683714)
> 
> There will be no new chapters added.

Ian was reaching for a jar of jelly on the shelf when he spotted him. A full-on double-take was performed before it registered that he was looking at someone he did not feel like running into. He turned away as quickly as he could and tossed the jelly into the basket as he guided his cart rather ungracefully down the aisle and turned right. He zoomed past multiple aisles he needed to peruse, just so he could avoid a potentially awkward and/or aggressive confrontation, and he kicked himself as he wondered how long he’d have to stall. He didn’t know how he was going to be able to complete his shopping within the timeframe he had, without a run-in.

He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, wondering why he was being such a pussy. They were both grown men now. Ian could even take the guy in a fight if he had to. Most likely, no attempt would be made to even try to talk to Ian anyway, so… he should probably just go back to doing what he came here to do, so he could get back home and be the surrogate dad he somehow sorta became when his older sister, Fiona, had left the family home, city, and state. It was a miracle she was still in the fucking country.

He steeled himself for potential contact and made his way down the bread aisle, grabbing a couple loaves of white, and turning right again at the other end, promptly crashing his cart full-force into an oncoming shopper’s.

“Oh shit, sorry,” was out of his mouth before he even looked up. His mouth fell open a little even though he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Staring back at him with clear blue eyes was none other than one Mickey Milkovich, bane of teenage Ian Gallagher’s gay existence.

Last he’d heard, Mickey had dropped out of high school, married some literal whore he’d knocked up, and moved away never to be seen again. As he watched the man open his mouth to speak, Ian braced for a gruff put down, possibly punctuated by a homophobic slur, but instead what he got was a tone way softer around the edges than he’d ever remembered it being, an almost teasing lilt running through it.

“Watch where you’re goin’, Gallagher. Could really do some damage.”

And was he fucking _smiling_ at him? With fucking _teeth_?

Ian squinted in confusion, unsure of how to react. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ll just…” He vaguely gestured as if to go around him.

But before he could move his cart, Mickey pressed on, “Why’d you run away from me back there?”

Well, let's see, could be the fact that when they were younger, Mickey used to harass him, beat him up, and steal his pocket money with enough regularity to be kind of a problem. It wasn’t exactly like they’d ever said a civil word to each other before. Why would he want to deal with that if he didn’t have to?

“You used to be a total asshole, so it wasn’t like I had something to say to you,” Ian remarked, shrugging.

Mickey laughed, and Ian was taken further aback. “Yeah, I remember. I’m not as bad now, though. Most of the time.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Congratulations, I guess.”

Mickey chuckled again, and Ian had sincerely never been so confused in his life. “Fuck you, Gallagher.” It was said not with the usual venom, but with something that almost sounded… _affectionate_?

Ian narrowed his eyes, head swiveling to watch as Mickey steered his cart around him and went on his way. Brow furrowed in bewilderment, he shook his head, exhaled, and turned down the juice and soup aisle. Life was so fucking weird sometimes.

  


He'd finally gotten the kitchen cleaned up after dinner, so he retreated to the privacy of his own room for a breather. He wasn’t sure exactly what to do with himself, he just wanted a little bit of peace. His younger sister, Debbie, would have to supervise alone for a while. He threw himself down on the bed, getting comfortable before retrieving his earphones from the nightstand, slipping them in and finding a playlist to listen to while he scrolled aimlessly through his phone. He started with Facebook, which he wasn’t even sure why he had anymore, then Instagram, then Reddit, before finally landing on Grindr.

He leaned back into the pillows more, and crossed his feet as he opened his inbox. Message senders included: a couple of relentless guys he had less than zero interest in, a guy he’d hooked up with before that wasn’t so bad really, a guy he’d been out with a few times and then had ended up being the absolute worst, and a guy he didn’t recognize until the profile was fully open… Mickey _fucking_ Milkovich.

“What the fuck!” Ian exclaimed to no one.

His pulse picked up the pace as he fumbled to read the message, wondering what the hell could possibly be going on.

> Hey man. I know this is probably weird as shit, but when I saw you today I just got to thinking about back in the day, and I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for being such a dick to you. I had a lotta issues I took out on a lotta other people back then. Anyway, I actually admired the shit outta you underneath it all. I was impressed, but jealous that you could be out at our school and in our neighborhood, when I couldn’t be. Hope you’re doing well. You look good.

“Mickey Milkovich is _gay_?” he asked his empty room. “Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He sat there stunned at the turn of events, the low thrum of the music pouring into his ears unheard. Never in a million years would he have taken Mickey for a member of the Nancy tribe. He wracked his brain for memories from back when, and whether he'd ever gotten a ping of gay vibes coming from Mickey during any of their many unpleasant encounters.

Nope. The answer was no. That never happened.

Ian was certain Mickey was the biggest homophobe there was. It ran in the family and everything. He’d even steered clear of the Milkovich girls who went to his school. They weren’t an approachable bunch in general.

And now 6 years had gone by, and Mickey pops up out of the ether, coming out to him completely at random, revealing their entire past had been built on a lie. He was praising Ian for his bravery in the face of the kind of people Mickey had once himself purported to be. It was like tilting the world on its axis. It didn’t really make sense. It was too much.

Ian had no idea how to reply to this unexpected declaration, so he just fumbled his way through some platitudes:

> Um, wow. Thank you, I guess. I had no idea. You look well too. Take care.

He didn’t really owe him more than that, did he?

So, ghost from his past buried, he went to exit the app and just zone out to his music for a bit. Before he could, a new notification hit his inbox, and curiosity piqued, he opened the new reply from Mickey.

Then he seemed to blanch and blush all at once, mouth falling open in a weird mixture of horror and excitement. Sheer surprise coursed through him at the tonal shift of the interaction, multiplied dramatically by the daring escalation of intimacy Mickey had just compelled them toward.

This was _not_ another short and sweet paragraph making amends for the past. This _was_ an extremely explicit photo of Mickey naked and bent over. He was holding his ass open so that his smooth hole was on vivid display, along with the underside of his taut balls and hard cock splayed over the bedsheets he was kneeling on. There was no doubt that the package belonged to Mickey either, because even with his face obscured, Ian would recognize that dumbass ‘FUCK’ tattoo across his knuckles anywhere.

“Hol-ly shit.”

The caption Mickey added read:

> I got a super tight asshole if you wanna get in it.   
>  🍆💦👅🍑

“Holy fucking shit.”

This was a turn-off, right? Very not cool… for the most part. Ruined the moment… totally out of left-field… highly inappropriate given the context of Mickey’s conciliatory efforts, as well as their entire shared history.

But was it also kind of a turn- _on_? Maybe. Ian had never exactly been a shrinking violet. It wasn’t like he was offended. But no, fuck Mickey! What a presumptive douchebag. He thought he could just treat Ian like garbage for years, call him a fag, give him bruised eyes and busted lips, even make him starve some school days, and then he could just turn around, send a nude, and try to fuck him? What the actual hell? No.

Given his confused state of being, he left the message on ‘read’ and quickly exited out of the app, putting the phone on sleep and tossing it to the mattress next to him. He wiped a hand over his face and stared up at the grayish ceiling, wondering why the world and everyone in it was so fucked up.

When he next checked the time, it was about the hour that all the kids needed to be herded up to bed, so he left his bubble and went back downstairs, pleased to find his older brother, Lip, home. He appeared to have the two youngest Gallaghers (Ian’s niece and nephew) in order, so Ian rounded up his youngest brother, Liam, still elementary aged, and walked him through his bedtime routine.

Once Ian was alone downstairs with Lip, he decided to bring up the whole weird Mickey incident. Lip and Mickey had also had a strange slew of interactions in high school, so not only would the story be of interest to him, but his brother was also sometimes good at giving advice. Either way, Ian and Lip were best friends, and this was definitely full disclosure material.

They cracked a couple of beers and went outside to sit on their front steps. They’d implemented a ‘no smoking in the house’ rule when the last round of babies came into their lives. Ian didn’t mind, but Lip still bitched about it from time to time, even though one of said babies belonged to him. So now, even more so than in years past, they drank outside so that the cigarettes could burn freely.

“So, uh… you’ll never believe who I ran into today,” Ian baited.

Lip just shrugged disinterestedly, taking a drag and exhaling through his nose.

“Mickey. Milkovich.”

That got Lip’s attention, and he perked up, arching an eyebrow. “Fucking random. What the hell is he doing back here?”

“Fuck if I know, didn’t exactly ask him a lotta questions.”

Lip chuckled. “I bet not. Did he say anything to you?”

Ian snorted. “Oh boy, did he say things. And then some.”

“What do you mean?”

“So I ran into him while I was grocery shopping, and he was kind of… _playful_? I don’t know. He seemed like a completely different person than who we dealt with in school. But I was just wanting to get the fuck outta there, you know? So whatever, we say a few words to each other, say bye, go our separate ways. Figured I’d never see or hear from him again for the rest of my life. Fast forward to a few hours later, I get this fucking message. On Grindr. From Mickey.”

Lip punches him in the shoulder. “Dude, shut the fuck up!”

Ian smiles and nods. “Yeah. Exactly. So I’m all ‘what the fuck,’ and I open the thing, and it’s like… _heartfelt_? It’s this sincere little paragraph about how he really looked up to me all that time after I came out. That he was jealous. That he was sorry for all the shit he put me through.”

“Mickey Milkovich bats for your team?”

“Apparently. And this gets weirder.”

“Oh shit, continue!”

“Well… let’s just say, he propositioned me… sexually.”

Lip gaped at him for a brief moment, then threw his head straight back into a deep cackle, slapping his knee and everything.

“Shut the fuck up! It's really not funny.”

“Are you kidding me? That is extremely funny. I don’t know if it could be called poetic justice exactly, but it does smacketh of the poetry.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’ll send him your way and see how funny you think it is then.”

Lip’s laughter continued, but petered out eventually. “Sorry, man. I’m sorry. For real… Look, are you sure he was propositioning you? Maybe you just misunderstood.”

“Uhhh, let's see… he sent me a pic of his entire asshole, dick, and balls. Oh, _and_ he said, and I quote, ‘I got a super tight asshole if you wanna get in it.’ There was also an eggplant emoji, followed by jizz emoji, then tongue emoji, then peach emoji.”

This information renewed Lip’s obnoxious guffawing to the nth degree.

Once he’d recovered enough to speak, he said, “Holy shit! And he’s a bottom too? This sounds like fate to me, bro.”

He nudged Ian with his elbow.

“Ugh, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hey, hate-fucking can be hot as hell! You never know.”

“Please. There’s no way I could ever take this seriously.”

“You’re thinking about it. I can see it in your eyes.”

Ian covered them up with one hand. “The most my eyes are conveying is an endless well of confusion.”

“What’s to be confused about?”

“Hmm, let me think…” he replied, uncovering his eyes, “the total and complete 180 this guy just did on me when I hadn’t even thought about him in years, and the last time I did, it was to cringe at the memory of being scared of him and letting him get to me the way he did. Doesn’t exactly instill confidence.”

“Whatdaya mean?” asked Lip.

“I mean like he could be up to some shit. Maybe he’s setting some kinda trap.”

“A honeytrap? He sent you a picture of his actual asshole, I think you’re good. But maybe you should meet up in a public place before you take it to pound town.”

Ian wrinkled his nose. “You have such a way with words sometimes.”

They laughed and kept smoking until their one beer limit was chugged.

  


When Ian turned in for the night, he settled on replying to Mickey with rational skepticism:

> I’d be insane not to question your motives here.

Maybe that was a lame comeback to such a bold maneuver, but he didn’t want to go farther than that up front. He didn’t have to wait long for a reply:

> Look, I’m not gonna beg for it or anything. If you’re not into it, just say so.
> 
> If I wasn’t a little bit curious, I woulda left you on read and blocked you.
> 
> What else do I gotta do to entice you then?
> 
> I have no idea. This is all very unexpected.

There was a slight pause before Ian saw the typing begin again.

> I always had a crush on you, if that helps.

Ian still couldn’t believe this shit. It was like a weird full circle event that someone would base a TV show off of, but not a thing that actually happened in real life. Right?

> Why didn’t you just hit on me in private back then, instead of literally hitting me and never saying anything instead?
> 
> I can’t sit here and psychoanalyze my stupid teenage self. All I knew how to do back then was fuck things up. Maybe if we’d ever had a reason to be around each other outside of school and the streets, something might’ve gone differently. We coulda become friends.

That would’ve been… _interesting_. Although who’s to say they would’ve had anything in common anyway? Mickey would’ve treated him like shit one way or another, even if he weren’t beating on him and appropriating his things. Ian probably still wouldn’t have been interested in him in that way. Although, he did have notoriously questionable taste back then, so there was really no telling. Maybe he could come clean about himself a little too, since it had nothing to do with Mickey:

> I was too busy banging old closeted married guys, and go-go dancing in Boystown for cash and party favors.
> 
> Wow, Gallagher. I’m somehow both disgusted and impressed. Maybe I underestimated you all those years. Thought you were a fucking boy scout with all that ROTC shit. Did look hot in those uniforms, though.
> 
> Thanks. Lol. You looked… mostly dirty.
> 
> That’s fair. I was a fucking pig back then. Not all my fault though. Mandy was the only one of us that learned to bathe regularly at an early age.
> 
> Lol. She was still as scary as all the rest of you, though.
> 
> She could hold her own. She was a dirty fighter, if nothing else.
> 
> I think she boned my brother a few times.
> 
> What brother? Fuckin’ Lip?
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> Good thing I never heard about that shit, then. Woulda killed that little weasel.
> 
> What do you have against Lip?
> 
> Like his nickname implies, that fucker’s always got something to say. Thinks he's so goddamn smart.
> 
> Didn’t you used to pay him to write your essays and shit with the money you stole from me and probably many others?
> 
> Maybe. What the fuck ever. He’s still a prick.
> 
> Well, he’s my best friend. The Irish twin bond is strong.
> 
> So?
> 
> So don’t talk shit about him. You don’t know him.
> 
> I know him enough. I’ll pass.
> 
> Lol. Ok.
> 
> Look, this gonna get to the good stuff or what? I’m not really good at this texting shit. And I definitely don’t wanna talk about your brother.
> 
> What do you mean?
> 
> Come on, Gallagher. I sent you some quality spank bank material. What do you think is going on here?

Ian couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head. Jesus Christ, what was he getting himself into?

> No one asked you to send that. Some might call it an inappropriate move.
> 
> Since when have you known me to be appropriate?
> 
> I thought you said you’d changed.
> 
> Sure, but I still want nudes.  👅
> 
> Are you trying to have text sex with me?
> 
> Lmao. You know there’s a better way to say that right? And so what if I am?

Ian didn’t reply for a while, as he thought about whether or not he wanted to do this. He still couldn’t pinpoint what the strange underlying attraction was. He shouldn’t even be considering this… But on the other hand, why _not_ consider it? There was nothing really stopping him. The setting was private, and Ian didn’t have a boyfriend. He rarely turned down casual sex under those circumstances. He could just try to forget about who Mickey was. But was that also part of it? Did some weird sadomasochistic part of him want to dominate the dude that had essentially dominated _him_ for so many years? And what about that whole coincidence concerning Mickey being a bottom and Ian a top? I mean, it was interesting, was it not?

It was.

Fuck it.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Ian got up to lock the bedroom door and pull off his clothes. Once he was back on the bed, he licked his palm and got himself hard. Then came the tricky task of getting a decent handheld shot of his dick. By the time he got one, Mickey had replied again:

> Did I scare you off?

Ian sent off the chosen dick pic, and captioned it:

> I was busy.

In no time at all, Mickey was typing back:

> Dammmnnn… always wondered what that firecrotch was packing. Looks like 9 inches. Getting me hard, Gallagher.
> 
> Wasn’t that the point?
> 
> Fuck yeah. You stroking it right now?

Ian wet his hand again and reached for his cock.

> Yeah. What’re you doing?

God, that sounded lame. He was so horrible at sexting.

> Getting the lube, bitch.

Ian snickered as he gasped, his grasp tightening just so as he jerked himself.

> What’s the lube for?
> 
> Lmao. Holy shit, Gallagher. You suck at this.

Ian cringed, hand faltering for a moment. It was fucking awkward texting with just his left hand too, on top of everything else.

> Yeah, sorry, I don’t usually do text based fucking. More of a real deal kinda guy.
> 
> K, well, if I’m gonna shove this big black butt plug up my ass and jack off without porn on, I’m gonna need you to start saying sexier shit.

Ian’s breath hitched a little at the mental image, and he tried to let himself get caught up in the fantasy. Video chat might make this a lot easier, but he didn’t think he was ready for that. Right. He needed to say stuff he might say if they were actually getting ready to fuck each other in real life. Although, to be honest, Ian wasn’t really a talker in bed. But he needed to pretend like he was. He could just exaggerate. That’s what porn stars always did. Everything Mickey did to himself had to be like a proxy for what Ian would do to him if they were together. He could do this. 

> Get yourself slicked up good. My cock is a lot to take.
> 
> Yeah, I bet. Looks thick. Gonna stretch me out nice.

“Oh fuck,” Ian muttered, hand speeding up. And where the hell was his own lube, anyway? He wet his palm with his mouth again instead.

> You a slut for a big cock like mine?
> 
> Fuck yes. I want it so bad. Give it to me.
> 
> Finger yourself open and tell me when you’re ready for me to stick it in.

Ian reached down to tug on his balls, pressing down on his perineum and rubbing as he spread his legs more, then took his dick in hand again, stroking steadily while he waited for Mickey to respond.

> I’m ready. Put it in.
> 
> I’m so fucking hard. Shoving my big cock in your tight hole.
> 
> Oh fuck. It’s so big.
> 
> Show me your ass now. Better be full.

God, this was actually pretty hot. Ian couldn’t believe how much this was actually doing it for him. It didn’t even feel that weird anymore. He kept a steady rhythm on his hard-on as he waited for Mickey’s visual tease.

When it came through, he held his breath for a moment. Mickey was on his back, and all Ian could see of the aforementioned toy was the bottom stopper of the jet black plug settled snugly against Mickey’s milky white skin. The rest of the image was all plump ass cheeks and thick thighs, with full balls and half-mast red dick reaching angrily for his soft belly.

Ian’s hand picked up the pace in an attempt to alleviate his throbbing ache with sheer force, and he struggled to type out a new message:

> So hot. I’m close. Get your hand on your dick and jerk it hard. Feel my cock deep inside you, rubbing everywhere. Tapping your sweet spot. Right. There.
> 
> Oh shit. Feels so fucking good. Want your cum.

Ian groaned and knew he was about to tip over the edge. His toes curled as his hand sped up to a frenzied blur.

> Good, cuz I’m filling you up with it. Now.

He gave it the final push, chest heaving with the effort, and his legs shook when he shot his load up over his stomach, milking his release at a slower pace until he was spent. He lied there for a minute panting and gathering his wits, then wiped the sweat gathered on his brow and picked up the phone from where’d he dropped it on the bed.

> Fuck yeah, Gallagher. Came so hard.   
>  💦💦☔️

Ian snorted and decided to take a pic of his messy abs and wilting erection, then sent it off with a simple:

> Me too.   
>  🥇🎖🏆
> 
> Mmmmm. When you gonna give me the real thing?

Ian paused to think about it. Shit. He’d just had virtual sex with someone he used to consider a sworn enemy. What the hell was he thinking? His dick was such an idiot. But any case, what if…

What if Mickey Milkovich didn’t suck now? What if the universe was throwing them together for a bigger reason? This was venturing into television trope territory again, but what the fuck _if_?

Then again, precautions never hurt, and he recalled Lip’s sound advice…

> We should meet up somewhere public first.
> 
> Lmao. Still don’t trust me even after all that, huh?
> 
> Old habits die hard, man. You wanna get a drink at the Alibi tomorrow night?
> 
> Alright then, gingerbread. What time works for you?

  
  


Ian was the first to arrive, so he settled in on a stool at the bar.

“Sup, Ian,” greeted Kev, long-time friend and neighbor, from behind the bar-top. “What're you doin’ here on a weeknight?”

“Waiting for my date,” he replied, tapping his fingers against the shellacked wood.

“Beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“So who’s the dude?” asked Kev as he poured the draft.

Ian shrugged. “Reconnected with someone from back in the day.”

“Ah, nice. Old flame? That’s always a sure thing if you’re tryin’ to get laid.”

“Not exactly.”

As if perfectly timed, Kev called out over his shoulder, “Mickey fuckin’ Milkovich, as I live and breathe! What’s up, man? Haven’t seen you since your teenaged wedding reception.”

Mickey grimaced as he approached, slapping and shaking Kev’s hand as he slid onto the barstool next to Ian, giving him a very obvious and flirty once over.

Kev glanced back and forth between them a couple times. “You guys know each other?”

Ian smirked, gesturing to his right, “Meet my date.”

“Holy shit, for real? You’re gay?” Kev’s eyes widened in excitement.

“How is that any of your business?” answered Mickey with a roll of his eyes, and a crossing of his arms, as he leaned back in his seat.

“Look, I’ve known Ian since he was a little kid, alright. I’m lookin’ out for him.”

“Unbelievable,” said Mickey, turning back to Ian. “You got any other dudes you wanna sick on me to defend your honor? Thought you were a big boy now.”

Ian chuckled, quipping, “You know it.”

Mickey smiled at him openly and genuinely, and it was exactly what Ian needed to be put truly at ease.

He almost laughed at Kev’s confused, surprised face, and the casual way Mickey just steamrolled ahead. “Can I get a beer?”

Kev seemed to shake out the cobwebs and move on autopilot toward the pint glasses and the tap.

“I guess maybe we coulda gone somewhere farther away from where we live, huh?” said Ian.

Mickey raised his eyebrows at him in a way that wasn’t menacing for once. “It was your brilliant idea, numbnuts. But I figured I’d run into somebody I knew. Shoulda guessed this moron would still be slingin’ beers to all the neighborhood drunks.” He indicated Kev with his thumb.

“Hey, I’ll have you know, I own this establishment now, thank you very much,” Kev retorted. “And it's lower overhead or some shit if I pay one less person for shifts and just do it myself.”

“Alright, ponytail, glad you made it,” said Mickey dismissively as Kev slid the beer in front of him with a frown. “Anyway,” he directed to Ian, “here I am. In public. As requested.”

“Thanks for coming,” said Ian, taking a sip of his beer and snickering. “Never thought I’d be on a date with Mickey ‘FUCK U-UP’ Milkovich.”

“Is that what this is?”

“It’s what the kids are callin' it.”

“Guess it must be true then. So, what’re you up to these days?”

“I’m an EMT. Still living at the house on Wallace. Help take care of the younger kids in my family. Fiona’s gone now, and my younger brother Carl is usually away at military school, but everybody else is still there, and a couple of ‘em are single parents.”

“Fuckin’ Lip and the little redhead girl?”

Ian nodded. “Not so little anymore. Time flies.”

“Shit yeah.”

“Why’d you come back to town? I don’t think I ever even heard where you moved to begin with.”

Mickey shrugged. “Didn’t exactly advertise it. Last thing I needed was a buncha lowlifes tryin’ to track me down on my new turf. I was cuttin’ ties with my old man anyway, so I cut ties with pretty much all of Chicago. Long story short, moved to Cleveland with my baby mama, who totally knew I was a fag, by the way. We tried to ignore it for a while, but it failed pretty quickly. Had the kid; my son. She started fuckin’ around with chicks, I started fuckin’ around with guys. It was alright for a while. Until it wasn’t. We’re sorta friends, but now I’m one of those ‘gets the kid twice a year’ dads. Came back here cuz I got willed the house when Terry kicked the bucket. Well, Mandy did actually, but she signed it over to me, cuz she wants fuck all to do with it. So I’m fixin’ it up. Might eventually sell it to some gentrifying asshole, cash in, and keep on movin’. Might keep it. Haven’t decided yet.”

“That’s cool. I don’t know that we’ll ever get ahead of ourselves enough to actually fix up the house. Sure would be nice, though. Wanna see at least a different coat of paint on the walls before I die.”

“Maybe if we know each other long enough, I’ll offer you a good deal for some work,” Mickey said softly, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

“You sayin’ you wanna pretty up my house for me, Milkovich?” Ian returned a grin that had a much cockier edge to it, with a little chin tilt to boot.

“Too soon to tell, Red, but I’ll keep you posted.”

Ian could barely believe how personable Mickey was being. It was like dealing with an entirely different person than the one he’d once had to put up with. One by one, slowly but surely, every past misdeed seemed to be all but erased by an increasingly charming hand. After an hour, he could hardly recall the teenaged version of Mickey at all.

This Mickey... older, wiser, freer… was funny and interesting, and most importantly, he felt like a comfortable fit with Ian. He never could’ve expected they’d actually be alike in many ways, and yet… this may have been his best date in years.

“So,” Mickey finally pressed around the two hour mark, “you gonna come back to my place, or what? Unless you still don’t trust me and wanna go back to yours.”

Ian smiled, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes. “There’s a lotta people at my house. Kids being put to bed. Not the sexiest scene, really.”

Mickey snorted. “Well whatdaya know, I got the whole place to myself. Not a single brother, sister, or rugrat lurkin' around.”

Ian clinked his pint glass to Mickey’s in agreement.

  


It felt more than a little strange marching up the stairs of a house he’d avoided like the plague his whole life, watching his former bully’s ass sway enticingly in front of him no less. It was a peak bit of surrealism to cap off his evening with.

“Living room or bedroom?” posed Mickey once they crossed the foyer.

Ian ran a hand through his hair and thought about it. “Uh…” He glanced at the couch, and figured it couldn’t hurt to let things play out naturally, instead of jumping straight to fucking. “Living room?”

Mickey chortled, and his smile pierced Ian like an arrow to the chest, his attraction still growing as the night progressed. “Alright, Firecrotch. Relax. I’ll grab some more beers.”

Ian was pretty sure he’d already had the right amount of beers, considering his low tolerance these days, but one more wouldn’t push him over into the danger zone.

He settled down on Mickey’s couch, glancing around at the sparse decor. It looked barely lived in, and Ian suspected that Mickey had recently gotten rid of everything that had once occupied the home. Was most likely slowly replacing it as he could afford to. Certain sections of wall had been obviously patched up and plastered over, yet to be re-painted, and Ian wondered what colors Mickey would pick for the cover-ups that obviously needed to take place in every grime-stained room. Wondered if he was unimaginative enough to just stick with white, or if there was some inclination toward the daring and expressive.

“Still weird bein’ here all by myself,” said Mickey, returning to hand Ian a beer and taking a swallow of his own as he sat down. “Until a couple months ago, I think I’d only been completely alone here a handful of nights my entire life. Shit was just like your house probly is… a fuckin’ family zoo that kept trappin’ and breedin’ new animals. Never any fuckin’ peace and quiet. I feel like a ghost sometimes, haunting this place.”

The openness of those words, more than anything else Mickey had revealed that night, struck Ian acutely and resonated deep inside.

“Sounds kinda like a dream come true to me,” he replied, sipping his beer. “I love my family, and I like bein’ there for them and takin’ care of shit, but I wish I could be selfish too. Just live my own life. Drop in on the weekends. I guess eventually it’ll happen, but who fucking knows, right? Could die tomorrow in some freak accident.”

“Look, if you wanna have some ‘we might die tomorrow’ type sex, I’m not gonna complain.”

Ian giggled. “I like how you always bring it back to what you really want from me.”

Mickey groaned and tilted his head back on the couch. “Come on, Gallagher, don’t pull that shit. Wouldn’t’ve gone out with you if I only wanted the D.”

Ian turned a little, hiking one leg up on the couch, so he could face Mickey better. “Why’d you want to pursue me anyway? Sex, date, any of it. I still can’t quite square it all.”

Mickey sighed, still looking up at the ceiling. “Told you… I used to have a thing for you, alright? When I ran into you at the store… I saw you first, but I didn’t know what the hell to say, and then I saw you flee like the fuckin’ building was on fire when you noticed me. Didn't blame you or anything, but I felt shitty. Felt like I owed you an apology at least. Didn’t expect you to grow up so fuckin’ hot either, though. Had to take a shot now, since I was too much of a pussy to do it before.”

“Did you have to drop in out of the clear blue sky and be so fucking forward? I almost had an aneurysm trying to figure out what the hell was happening when you sent that first pic.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” stated Mickey, finally meeting his eye.

Ian chuckled. “Against all odds.”

“I could tell I’d be able to tolerate you from the way you talked to me when we were messaging. Before, during, and after the sexting. And I knew you’d be able to tolerate me too. Me and my fuckin’ _forward_ ways.”

Mickey’s expression turned daring, and Ian was pretty much powerless to resist the spell it cast.

“That’s your big sell?” he asked quietly. “We can _tolerate_ each other?”

“‘Ey, way I see it, that’s a pretty big thing. No one ever tolerates my ass, and you seem like a total piece of work, so…”

Ian gasped indignantly, swatting Mickey’s shoulder. “Don’t be an asshole now, you were doing so well. I was buying every word.”

“I’m the pinnacle of authenticity, Red. Just let me tolerate you.”

Their eyes did that synchronized dance that accompanied mounting sexual tension, and their heads inched closer and closer as they leaned slowly in. Once Mickey swiped his tongue across his own bottom lip, leaving it shiny and wet, Ian had no choice but to latch onto it with an eager mouth. His hand wound around the nape of Mickey’s neck as he pressed forward more insistently.

Ian could feel Mickey melting into it, reassured when strong hands started gripping him back in earnest, and before long their lips and tongues were twisting together in a sublime build-up of energy and desire. Within minutes, shirts were off, and Ian had Mickey pinned down on his back as they rutted against each other, their mouths having found a harmonious rhythm to devour each other's faces to.

No sooner had Ian gotten his hand wrapped around Mickey’s hard dick, when he was stopped, and his eyes snapped open in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, just wanna take this into the bedroom. We’ll have more space.”

They smiled as they looked into each other’s eyes, and Ian's body reluctantly pried itself away. He stood on unsteady feet and helped Mickey up, shuffling him forward so the he could lead the way.

There was a king-sized bed in the master bedroom, which Ian was kind of impressed by. He’d always been so goddamn space-deprived at his house. Now that he finally had his own room to himself, he still couldn’t fit more than a full-sized bed in there. He longed to stretch all the way out, however he pleased, without his toes ever hanging over the end of the mattress.

The rest of the room was scantily furnished like the rest of the house, the bare, spackled walls a little grim, and all signs of actual life minimal.

Mickey was busy pulling lube and condoms from a small wooden nightstand that didn’t really seem like a practical combination with the height of the bed next to it.

“Sorry it resembles a psych ward or some shit in here,” said Mickey with a snort. “Can’t really do much until I finish the walls and the floors. Just the bare necessities.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he approached Ian, pressing the essential bottle of lube into his chest. “Wanna do the honors?”

Ian tittered, taking the bottle in hand and backing Mickey up to the edge of the mattress. “Bet your sweet ass I do.”

Mickey reached down between them to finish undoing both their pants, and they quickly shimmied out of their remaining clothes. When Mickey attempted to turn around and climb onto the bed on his knees, Ian stopped him, spinning him and pushing him down onto his back instead.

“Want you like the second picture from last night,” said Ian, hiking Mickey’s knees up so that he could spread them apart and ogle what he found between them.

Mickey licked his lips in his own obvious admiration of seeing Ian’s hard cock looming over him in the flesh. “You can have me any way you want to, Gallagher.”

Ian smirked and tugged on his dick, watching as Mickey mirrored the action, then stepped forward to get the lube ready. Once his fingers were well coated, he took the back of Mickey’s left knee in hand, pulling it up and pressing it down so that the leg was bent at the perfect angle for Ian to begin rubbing his wanting hole. The skin was smooth and pliant, and Ian ran his hand up to massage Mickey’s balls and glide over his cock, giving it a few firm strokes before skimming back down to slide a finger inside him.

The quiet moan that Mickey uttered with an accompanying lip bite made Ian’s breath go ragged, and he rocked Mickey’s leg back farther, quickly working his finger up to a good pace, then going for a second finger. As the task became easier, Ian was able to feel around more, until he was nudging Mickey’s prostate with deliberate precision; laughter escaping when Mickey’s right leg kicked out in a spasm and his back arched sultrily off the bed.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Gallagher! You need to get on me now.”

Ian let his fingers rub and tap deliciously on Mickey’s G-spot for another minute of hot, sonorous writhing, before slipping them out. He then eased up and reached for a condom with his clean hand, passing it off to Mickey. “You wanna do the honors?”

Mickey chuckled breathily and tore the wrapper open with his teeth. “Gimme that dick.”

The relief that flooded through Ian’s body when Mickey finally got a bare hand on his cock was enough to both stifle his swelling laughter and fan the flames of his lust. Mickey looked up into Ian’s dark green eyes as he rolled the condom down snug. Ian kissed him quickly, then pulled back to lather on some more lube, moaning when Mickey took the backs of his own knees in hand and held himself spread open wide.

When Ian finally shoved himself inside, it felt like paradise enveloping him with open arms and strong legs. He paused and adjusted higher up on his knees, splaying his thighs so he could begin plunging in and out with fervor. He alternated between watching Mickey’s ass taking him so well, and Mickey’s face screwing up with the pleasure Ian was giving him. God, Mickey was so hot. It was weird that he’d never seen it before. He dipped in lower to the mattress, flattening out so he could lean down and continue kissing Mickey as he pumped into him. When they looked into each other’s eyes as they pulled apart, it occurred to Ian that he actually saw trust residing there.

This was Mickey as raw as he could get. And Ian was willing to bet this likely wasn’t a side of himself he showed to a lot of people, even when he was fucking them.

He kissed him again, licking his lips apart, while snaking a hand around Mickey’s stiff cock.

“Mmm, yeah,” Mickey said so quietly that Ian almost didn’t hear it. “Keep goin’ just like that.”

The cadence of Ian’s dick sliding in and out of Mickey’s asshole, and Ian’s hand slicking up and down Mickey’s cock fell in sync, and he started going harder, encouraged by the little moans that got gradually louder and more incessant. He could feel Mickey’s nails digging into his shoulders as he clung there, prompting Ian to squeeze on Mickey’s thigh and speed up even more.

“Fuck!” Mickey shouted, his eyes rolling back into his head. “Gonna come!”

Ian rode him roughly through each throw of passion, milking Mickey’s dick until there was nothing left. With a heavy gasp, Mickey snapped his eyes open, honing in on Ian with singular determination. He pushed the redhead back and flipped their positions on the bed, wasting no time as he rolled the condom off and went straight to sucking Ian’s cock like it was all he’d ever wanted to do with his life.

Now Ian was the one pinned to the mattress with his eyes squeezed shut, and he let Mickey go to town with skilled tongue, and lips, and throat, his balls not forgotten by a practiced hand.

It was wet, and warm, and sexy, and—“Fuck!”

He was coming. Hard.

His hand tangled itself harshly in Mickey’s black hair, and he tried to buck his hips as minimally as possible. A string of satisfied groans poured out of him, punctuated by a random unthinking outburst of, “Yes!”

And then he was sinking down into the damp sheets, limbs drained of all function, as he smiled goofily up at the ceiling.

When Mickey came back into view, it was to gaze down on him with bright eyes and a derisive laugh. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “You okay?”

Ian flipped him off, still grinning. “Fuck off and let me bask in the afterglow,” he responded, grabbing Mickey around the middle and pulling him down to the mattress. He kept his arms loose in case Mickey needed space and wanted to roll away from him, but he actually stayed lying there half on top of him while they caught their breath.

“And to think, we coulda been doing that years ago,” Ian said, breaking the silence after a few short minutes passed.

Mickey snorted. “I don’t know about that. I had to be super on the down low before my ex-wife, Svetlana. I fucked around with some guys, but no one who coulda been obvious.”

Ian shifted them so that he could see Mickey’s face. “Are you callin’ me obvious?”

Mickey laughed. “I don’t mean it like that. I just mean... you had too many fuckin’ connections to my life. Shit woulda been complicated.”

“But I barely even knew you.”

“Yeah, but you lived a few blocks away, went to the same school, families ran parallel scams. If we’d’ve hooked up, all those things woulda tangled up real fast. One mistake and Terry woulda found out and killed us both. There was a method to my madness.”

Ian reached out a tentative hand and brushed Mickey’s hair away from his forehead, then skimmed his cheek, pressing a thumb against his chin as he cupped his jaw. “So you were just terrified that whole time.” It wasn’t a question.

Mickey nodded very slightly and latched onto Ian’s wrist. “I’m still sorry for makin’ you miserable, though. Probly need to atone for that, huh?”

“I don't know," said Ian truthfully. “Maybe. Or maybe it’ll just be water under the bridge.”

Mickey shook his head. “I don’t think I woulda forgave you if the script was flipped. Definitely wouldn't've let you seduce me so easily.”

Ian jerked farther back again. “Hey! Now you’re calling me easy _and_ a push-over?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“Wow. Is this some weird negging routine you do to get rid of the guys you bring home?”

“Yeah. Is it working?”

“No.”

“Shit. Got any suggestions?”

“I don’t know. I can be really hard to get rid of. Might be easier to just invite me to stay.”

“Like reverse psychology?”

“No, like you just accept that I’m staying, and you don’t perform any parlor tricks to try and get me to leave.”

“So you’re saying you don’t provide the option to opt out.”

“To you? Right now? No.”

“Jesus. You drive a hard bargain. What if I laid hands on you again? Like the type of fisting that hits in you in the face.”

“I’d hit you back this time. Maybe break your hand so you wouldn’t be able to fist anyone in any sense of the word for a long time.”

Mickey let out a comical high whistle. “Still got some army in ya, huh, Mr. EMT?”

“All the good stuff,” answered Ian.

“Sounds like I might be fucked then.”

“Sounds like it.”

“You wanna take a nap or a shower before we go again?”

“Nah, but I could go for a snack.”

“I got a snack for you right here.”

“I meant like some chips or something. Saw some in your grocery cart yesterday.”

Mickey let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, but I ain’t gettin’ outta bed to cater to your ass. Kitchen cabinets are pretty self-explanatory.”

Before he could think twice, he leaned in and bussed Mickey on the nose. “Be right back.”

  


  
***

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave kudos and comments. 
> 
> 💜
> 
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